Funeral March
by Jamaica
Summary: A collection of reincarnation fics unrelated to each other except for the last one that ties them together. Some are AUs while others are divergent canon pieces. They mostly revolve around Kanda and Lavi and their relationship (romantic or otherwise). Kanda/Lavi, various other pairings, angst all around.
1. Prelude

**A/N:** I have hopped onto the bandwagon of multiple reincarnation collections and this, apparently, is the result. Each chapter can stand alone but it wraps up in a connected whole at the end. The last chapter will probably be longer than the rest of the fic combined.

 **Warnings:** Language and deaths. A lot of it, for a lot of people, because the title says it all.

Takes place in various timelines with various back drops. The first and last one, however, are divergent canon.

* * *

 **Funeral March**

* * *

 _Prelude_

* * *

 _Do you believe in reincarnation, Yu?_

 _Idiot, isn't that how we were born?_

 _No, I mean, the multiple cycle kind. The spiritual, to hell and back, cut red string, that kind._

 _Why?_

 _Because – I remember you._

* * *

They weren't meant to be together. And for the majority of their lives, that was true.

But there were always exceptions, and even once was enough.


	2. Grave

**A/N:** This one takes place in canon.

* * *

 **Funeral March**

* * *

 _Grave_

* * *

He was a historian without a heart. Quite ironic that, in the end, _his_ Innocence was the one that mattered, and not the one from the fabled darling who had a heart bigger than all 49 of his aliases combined. Being recorders of hidden histories they were seldom surprised by truths, but this had perturbed the dogmatic teacher and intractable pupil alike. There was barely time to understand it, however, even less to cry about it. The only tangible change was that at least one other senior Exorcist was now assigned to him wherever he went. A trifle in the grand scheme of things, really, especially since humanity itself was at stake.

He was a weapon with a limited shelf life. And what a blessing that was, his ingenious existence. Nevermind that the once beautiful warrior was now half-consumed by the curse, and those damn pesky lotuses had again returned and dominated his vision. He could still fight, which more than qualified him for the job of guarding the world's most precious human cargo. Tough luck, though, that this cargo also happened to belong to someone who had to constantly trot the globe regardless of war activity. Limited shelf life be damned.

* * *

Some days Lavi wanted to roll up his bags and disappear into a city crowd. Forget Bookmanship and Exorcism, he'd gladly give up both as long as he could get away from the fading light inside Kanda Yu's eyes. The man was dying; it was plain to see. And it was solely because of _him_ that this was happening so visibly, so soon.

"Do not give in to what you cannot control," Bookman had scolded him. "It is his fate, just like it is ours. The Heart has chosen you, my boy, and it is your duty to see this war through."

Later, in the quiet of the night, his teacher let the credo fade away with the rising puffs of his pipe. "I am sorry," he said then, voice ringing with the fatigue of an aged man. "I do wish it is not this way."

Lavi dropped his persona soon after that. There really was no need. Plus, he thought Kanda would appreciate it if he stopped his antics and just simply leave the man in peace. Many a night was spent in the silence of the swordsman's meditation and the scratches of quill on parchment. It looked restful, but Lavi could tell Kanda's body was simply too exhausted to do much else outside of fighting.

"I should go," he said this to Kanda once. "Then at least you have a chance."

"If you were gone," Kanda replied. "The world goes with you."

"Maybe not. I mean, who's to say those Noahs can't run the world better than we do?"

Kanda's response was just a slight narrowing of his eyes. Lavi sighed. He knew he was spewing pure drivel, but it was a nice thought, nonetheless.

* * *

Their last night together was spent in a cozy, comfortable inn on the outskirt of Brussels. Bookman had gone out to restock on fresh tobacco leaves, leaving his pupil recording and their bodyguard meditating in a room across the hall. Lavi was in the middle of detailing the current regional reforms when the first explosion of Akuma cannon sounded in the distance. He put down his quill, Iron Hammer materializing like an extension of his limb. He wasn't supposed to be out chasing monsters but they were bound to find their way to him, sooner or later. Might as well be prepared.

The door slammed open. He was expecting his teacher but it was Kanda who came through the wooden arch. The swordsman strode quickly up to his desk, their eyes meeting above the flickering candlelight. Lavi winced when he saw the once sharp gaze now clouded over with a rheumy gray film. He opened his mouth to speak, but a look from his guard stopped him mid-word. A beat later Kanda leaned forward, gripped Lavi's jaw with his cool smooth fingers, and kissed him fully on the lips.

It ended as abruptly as it began. Before Lavi could so much as blink Kanda jerked back, and, without a word, disappeared from the room like a chilly wind. Lavi stood there, mouth agape, fingers instinctively went to touch his lips. They felt warm enough to make his cheeks flush. His retentive mind immediately started to recall every single interaction between the two of them in the past year. It became a complete jumble of gestures and glances and unspoken intentions, and Lavi closed his eye, the only sound remaining was the palpable beating of his perfectly imperfect heart.

It was the echoes of Akuma cannons that finally pulled the junior Bookman out of his daze. A moment later the inn shook, and Lavi barely had time to fully expand Iron Hammer before the entire structure came crumbling downwards. He spent the rest of night fighting, alone, against the horde and the never-ending rain of debris. When reinforcements from the Order finally arrived he was bleeding from head to toe, the battered Innocence held together only by the tether of his will, while the center of Belgium disintegrated into a massive rubble heap.

Kanda did not come back. Neither did Bookman. The Order lost two Exorcists but gained the head of the Noah of Pity. Only Bookman's body was found, skewered on a protruding piece of metal from a caved-in chapel. Lavi stared at his former master's sunken face, and felt his heart plunging into a cold, impartial abyss.

* * *

The world continued to spin and Lavi the apprentice became the official Bookman sans name. Armed with a quill and the Heart of Innocence, he was simultaneously an invisible force and the most prominent figure in the history of humanity. His records were impeccable, as was his flawless, objective memory. Many generations of Bookmen rose under his guidance. They spoke of him with utmost deference reserved for a holy man. And he was – holy, revered, impenetrable, a wall of a human being superbly suited for his purpose. The irony wasn't lost on him, of course, but few outside the Great Hidden War, as it was now called, could understand its implications. It didn't stop his curious students from trying to pry, however, and the result was predictably fruitless.

But, once in a while, one of the younger lot would catch the Bookman in an uncharacteristic trance. It would always start with something insignificant - the severe, cold nights of a new moon; the gentle sway of lilies in a pond; the brilliant blue hue of a flowing garment – and an almost imperceptible sorrow would seep into the Bookman's features. He would look up then, into the depth of the endless sky, and wear a smile like a man in mourning.


End file.
